


everybody's got something to hide

by friarlucas (authorisasauthordoes)



Series: girl meets world band au [3]
Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 11:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11147154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authorisasauthordoes/pseuds/friarlucas
Summary: Riley would be lying if she claimed she expected dating a celebrity to be easy.She already has her fair share of experience considering her relationship with Charlie Gardner early in his career, and that was far from smooth sailing. The media can be vicious, the so-called fans could be even worse. There’s so much planning and preparing and polishing to be done just to go out for dinner or go shopping for groceries and everything is a spectacle. Nothing feels organic. If she were to be completely honest, she’d have to admit that part of her felt like never, in her right mind, would she choose to date anybody famous ever again.But Lucas Friar isn’t just anybody.





	everybody's got something to hide

**Author's Note:**

> part of the girl meets world band au || rucas fic week day four ( argument )

Riley would be lying if she claimed she expected dating a celebrity to be easy.

She already has her fair share of experience considering her relationship with Charlie Gardner early in his career, and that was far from smooth sailing. The media can be vicious, the so-called fans could be even worse. There’s so much planning and preparing and polishing to be done just to go out for dinner or go shopping for groceries and everything is a spectacle. Nothing feels organic. If she were to be completely honest, she’d have to admit that part of her felt like never, in her right mind, would she choose to date anybody famous ever again.

But Lucas Friar isn’t just anybody.

And all things considered, it’s been well worth the risk. Knowing what she knows now—about the mystery muse, the initials on his drumsticks, her own feelings—looking back on the development of their friendship makes the whole thing sort of feel like an inevitability. She doesn’t believe in coincidences, and neither does he. Of course she was going to end up with Lucas. Of course he was going to end up with her.

They chose each other. They wrote a whole song about it after all.

She was expecting the whole thing to blow up in her face, but she’s proven wrong time and time again. Some fans still cause some trouble, but unlike before both her boyfriend and the entire Mad Dogs team refuse to humor it. When they go to events or even just out for groceries, Lucas is much more focused on her rather than the cameras.

It’s completely different than her relationship with Charlie. When she and Lucas are together, it actually feels like they’re sharing something, building something together that is authentic and honest.

In an industry full of paper thin promises and mock sincerity, what the two of them have is something real. She and Lucas are real.

Happily living with that fact, Riley finds it much easier to enjoy the supposed benefits of engaging in a romantic relationship.

Despite how hectic their lives are, the first year or so is actually amazing. With the success of the band’s self-titled album sort of coloring the rest of their moods and putting everyone in high spirits, Riley can’t imagine having a better start to a relationship.

She learns very quickly that Lucas is completely the kind of guy that will bring her flowers when they meet up just because he can. She gets very comfortable in his vintage t-shirts that smell a little bit like pine and staying the night at his apartment. Her favorite nights are the ones where they stay up all night talking and don’t even realize it until the sun is rising out the window and she doesn’t even care that she hasn’t slept at all.

Since they were friends for so long, she figured they’d run out of things to talk about eventually. As it turns out, quiet as he is he has a lot to say and she doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of talking to him. She doesn’t ever want to stop talking to him.

This, Riley thinks, is what it must feel like to be in love.

Still, the other shoe has to drop eventually.

By the time the band is well into work on their next album, supposedly titled _Flaws_ if Smackle’s intel is correct, Riley feels very secure in her place in the world. She’s done a ton to help Maya with songs for her next album, and after photographing Mad Dogs so often she’s started getting offers to do shoots with other members of the industry. She decides to take her boyfriend’s lead and not let the social media commentary get to her so much.

She spends more time at Lucas’s apartment than Maya’s at this point, and she keeps having little conversations with herself about whether or not she should just ask him if they should move in together. Her naturally cautious nature always stops her from actually saying anything, of course, but she’s definitely thinking about. Definitely.

It’s what she’s thinking about as she’s up late Thursday night, crashed on his couch and diagramming some possible layouts for promotional material for _Flaws_ on the coffee table while she waits for Lucas to get home. Zay’s out of town for the week to do a press run in New York, so naturally Riley practically lives at the apartment in his absence. She recognizes the sanctity of having a place to call home that isn’t constantly infested with others and tries to hang around only a reasonable amount when Zay is there, but she’s not going to pass up the opportunity to settle in when he’s not.

She checks the clock glowing at her from the stove in the kitchen. 11:34.

Lucas coming home late isn’t unheard of, and with all the stuff going on for the album development she decides she shouldn’t be concerned. He’ll be home soon enough.

Riley gets back to laying out photos. She picks up one of the ones she took of Farkle, squinting at it slightly as she tries to determine the best place to put it. Admittedly, the photoshoot for the album turned out a little depressing for her taste, but Farkle assured her that it was exactly what they’re going for. She figures she has to trust him as she hasn’t heard any of the songs yet, but considering how upbeat and lively _Mad Dogs_ felt, this sort of broody, gloomy vibe comes as a bit of a shock.

12:47. Completed layout on the coffee table. No Lucas.

Riley forces herself to stay calm, shooting him a text to check if he’s okay and when he thinks he’ll be home. Then she distracts herself, freshening up as if she’s getting ready for bed even though she knows she won’t be sleeping any time soon. Even if she were tired, she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep with no clue where he is.

Searching for something else to do, she pulls on one of his old t-shirts and sets to tidying up. To their credit, Zay and Lucas are surprisingly neat young adult men. She wanders her way around the whole of the apartment, straightening things up and dusting things off. By the time she ends up in the kitchen, she finds herself opening the fridge and gathering ingredients. When it doubt, it seems, stress baking is the solution.

1:56. Dust off the surfaces and cookies in the oven. Still no Lucas.

She’s already called him twice but as the clock hit two in the morning she allows herself a third call, pacing the kitchen and chewing her thumbnail. It rings and rings but eventually goes to voicemail as she figured it would. She doesn’t know whether to be relieved or irritated that his phone is obviously on rather than dead. He’s simply not answering.

He’s had late nights at the studio before, but usually it’s with most if not all of the band and even then they’re not home this late. She’s not even sure the studio is still open at this time of night. And any time he was out this late, he would always tell her. Let her know when he was coming home. Give her some sort of signal that everything was alright.

_**Isadora Smackle:** No, Farkle is here. Sleeping, like a normal person. I don’t think he mentioned there being any practice this evening. Why are you awake?_

That was then, it seems. This is now.

It’s half past two and she’s just taking the last tray of cookies out of the oven when the front door finally opens. She whips around to face Lucas standing caught in the entryway, brewing up all of the things she’s going to say to him and all the questions she needs to ask.

He beats her to it. “What are you doing up?”

“What am I doing up?” she asks incredulously in a voice much louder than his near whisper, gripping the countertop for a sense of support. She steps around the island and out of the kitchen. “Where the hell have you been?”

He opens his mouth to respond and steps further into the apartment—tentatively, she notices.

That’s when she notices his hands.

“Oh my God,” she chokes out, all anger receding and giving way to panic. “Oh my God, what happened?”

Blood. There’s so much blood—on his hands, on his t-shirt that he’s pathetically using to cradle them, smudged on his jeans.

“What happened? Was there an accident?”

“Nothing happened,” he says flatly, making to scoot around her and head further into the apartment.

“Nothing?” she repeats incredulously, stepping in front of him and pressing a hand against his shoulder to keep him from going anywhere. “This is not nothing. Are you okay? Obviously, you’re not okay. Is everyone else okay? Is anybody hurt?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell happened?” She has no idea why he’s been so shifty, but he won’t meet her eyes and it’s only making her freak out more. “Lucas, tell me what happened.”

He shrugs her off, trying to side-step her again. “Nothing. I was drumming.”

Despite the ridiculousness of the statement, she realizes he has to be telling the truth. Partially because she likes to believe he wouldn’t lie to her, but also because she’s seen the bandages on his fingers before. She knows the kind of wear and tear talented drummers can do in the name of their craft. And she knows Lucas is a very talented drummer.

But she’s never seen the blood. There’s never been so much blood.

She blinks, searching for something to say. “At two in the morning?”

“Drop it, Riley. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” She spins around to follow him. “Have you seen your hands?”

“Riley, leave it alone. It’s not your problem.”

She can feel the panic settling at the base of her spine, promising a long stay so long as they’re at odds. But she can’t just let this go. “Not my problem? Oh, okay, so I’m just supposed to smile and nod when my boyfriend comes home at three in the morning with no explanation and bleeding enough to warrant a visit to the emergency room?”

He hesitates, obviously resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Look. At. Your. Hands. And tell me I’m exaggerating.”

Lucas bites his lip, glancing around the room in frustration before taking another step away from her. “Riley—,”

“Is that what you want from me? To just be the picture perfect girl to have on your arm at events and someone pretty to kiss when you get home? You want me to stay surface level?”

“Hey,” he snaps, knowing exactly what prior experience she’s referring to when she speaks. “You know that’s not what I want. You know that’s not how I see you.”

“Then why are you freezing me out? Why aren’t you talking to me?” She swallows hard, a little bit of resentment starting to fight through the worry as the initial wave of it fades. “Why are you ignoring my calls? You could’ve at least let me know where you were. Then you could at least have a chance of sneaking in without me noticing your self-mutilation and you could pretend everything is fine when it’s evidently not.”

“Because nobody cares, alright? This isn’t the first time this has happened—,”

“First I’m seeing of it,” she reminds him sharply.

“It’s not the first time it’s happened and you know, it’s not like anybody’s cared before! So yeah, I don’t see it as that big of a deal. And I don’t appreciate coming home to my own apartment and being accosted over it.”

“Well, now you have me,” she informs him harshly. “So better get used to it! And I don’t believe that, because I know Zay and I think you’re doing him a real disservice acting like he doesn’t give a damn about how you’re treating yourself.”

The mention of his best friend is enough to knock him off his high horse. He gulps, trying to formulate something to say in reply but coming up empty. After how they raised their voices at each other, the apartment feels particularly quiet in their silence.

Riley glances down at his hands, grimacing slightly on instinct. There’s too much blood.

She steps forward and reaches out to take them but stops herself, thinking maybe now isn’t exactly the time. But she’ll be damned if she lets him walk away without at least taking care of them properly. She touches his upper arm gingerly. “Sit down. I’ll get something to clean them.”

“I don’t need—,”

“Sit!” she commands loudly, surprising herself. Lucas backs off, wandering reluctantly to the couch and settling down.

The moment she turns away from him she takes a deep breath, trying to simultaneously calm her anger and settle her nerves. Whatever is going on with Lucas tonight, she knows it goes deeper than just coming home late because he can. There’s something else going on under the surface, and she’s going to figure out what it is. Because they’re not surface level. They’ve never been surface level.

They’re real. They’re real. They’re real.

She gets a damp washcloth and dabs some soap into the center of it, wringing it before padding over to perch herself across from him on the couch. With all the blood, everywhere, it’s hard to figure out where to begin. She exhales. “Shirt off, please.”

“Riley, I don’t need—,”

“Shirt off, please,” she repeats insistently, relieved when he doesn’t put up any more of a fight. Without the blood stains standing out so starkly against the white of his t-shirt, it’s a little easier to focus.

Riley takes one of his hands in hers delicately, scrubbing at the palm of his hand as gently as she can manage while still doing any good. The first time she rubs over one of the new blisters on his skin he winces, making her frown in spite of herself.

“For someone who claims this happens all the time, you seem pretty unprepared for it,” she comments.

“I don’t usually clean it. I just—,”

She can’t even begin to imagine how much he puts himself through by not disinfecting his own wounds. She hums to interrupt him, shaking her head before he says something else she doesn’t want to hear. “Just… stop talking.”

He obliges, attempting to keep his wincing to a minimum as she painstakingly cleans his hands. She appreciates the effort, because she doesn’t know if she’d be able to keep it together if he was in noticeably more pain. Minutes pass by in silence, neither of them speaking when Riley gets up to get some gauze from the bathroom.

She’s always seen the bandages on his fingers. He’s had them in varying stages practically since she met him. But she never bothered to imagine what he was doing to get them in the first place. They were always just there. Just a part of him, like his broad shoulders or his pretty green eyes.

That was then. This is now.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas mutters as she’s finishing up wrapping a bandage around his left ring finger. Nowhere near actually finished.

“About what?”

He hesitates, adjusting his hand as she starts on the next finger. “For ignoring your calls. In my defense my hands were a little tied up, but I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have made you worry like that.”

She rolls her eyes at his plea for defense, but the apology feels genuine. She nods, keeping her concentration focused on patching him up. Once she’s closer to completing the job, she allows herself to venture a different topic. “Why were you drumming at two in the morning?”

Lucas shrugs. “I just do sometimes.”

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” she asks instead, pressing her thumb down against the newly secured bandage on the bridge between his thumb and index finger.

“I just do sometimes.”

She shakes her head, voice shaking slightly. “That’s not good enough.”

“I’m a drummer, Riley. Drummers get blisters. That’s the job.”

“Not like this,” she retorts. Frustrated with the way he’s dismissing her, but more frustrated with the fact that he’s refusing to admit that something is wrong. “Drummers get blisters. You’re tearing yourself to shreds. That’s not normal.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” he says defensively. “You knew what you were getting into when you decided to date me.”

“Yeah, I did.” Riley finishes the last of the bandages, exhaling shortly and getting to her feet. Wanting to help him, but knowing she can’t if he won’t let her. “I knew that we were going to talk to each other. That whatever came up, whatever happened, we were going to work it out together. But if you don’t want to do that, if you want to be a ‘drummer’ and tear yourself up, that’s on you.”

Lucas stares up at her, obviously wanting to argue but not knowing what to say. He presses his lips together.

She’s out of things to say. She raises her hands in surrender, stepping back from him. “Don’t expect me to watch it happen.”

It’s nearly impossible, but she forces herself to turn around and walk away from him. She steps up into the hall and into his room, closing the door behind her. She’s frozen for a moment as she lets the reality of the situation hit her, before she leans back against the door and breathes out a sigh.

Riley’s starting to get the feeling that whatever is going on with the band—their new look, the ominously dark title of the new album—it has more to do with the boys’ influence on the music than the music’s influence on them. Lucas certainly has his flaws, apparently now more than ever. And it’s only going to get harder before it gets easier.

The honeymoon phase, the _Mad Dogs_ hype, is long past over. But she and Lucas are still real, and she doesn’t want to let him float through whatever it is alone. If they’re as real as she thinks they are, then maybe this is the time to prove it.

She bites her lip, debating with herself for a few more moments before whipping around and preparing to go apologize.

When she opens the door she’s a little surprised to find Lucas standing there on the other side. Just about to knock, looking about as ashamed as she feels. Staring at her with those pretty green eyes that are a little too good at being sad.

It only takes her a couple of seconds to remember how to move, holding out her arms and pulling him towards her as he enters the room. When he wraps his arms around her and she presses her head against his chest, focusing on his heartbeat, she’s grateful for how steady it is. That even when everything else is escalating out of control it’s still there, keeping the beat and keeping him alive.

Riley manages to get him to bed but doesn’t let go, continuing to hold him as they lay there in the dark. It won’t be for long, with the sun bound to rise within the hour, but she has the feeling that this is going to be another one of those nights where she doesn’t get much sleep. Too many things to discuss.

“Please,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and pushing some hair from his forehead. “Talk to me.”

Lucas adjusts more comfortably against her, chewing his lip anxiously. He’s not looking at anything in particular, mind obviously very far away. She realizes it’s an expression he’s worn a lot lately. “You just get used to it.”

“Get used to what?”

“Compensating,” he explains blankly. She can feel his fingers tapping against her hip, a nervous tick of his she’s somewhat fond of. “Finding ways to cope. When everyone’s got their eyes on you and everyone has something to say you find the best way to cope when no one is looking. Zay does restorative yoga. Farkle used to smoke. I play the drums. A lot.”

“Only one of those things sounds healthy,” Riley comments softly.

“Everyone’s expecting something, you know?” He sighs, trying to keep his voice even. It’s evident to her that he’s never talked about this out loud before. “Everyone is expecting things to be one way and for you to do something so you do it. And they tell you what they thought about it and maybe it’s bad, maybe it’s good. Maybe it’s really good. But it’s never enough. They just keep expecting. So you keep going. And everyone keeps expecting and you keep going and going and going. But it’s never good enough.”

She can tell from the tone in his voice that he’s exhausted, but it feels like more than typical lack of sleep. There’s something else in there that makes her uneasy, that sort of makes her wonder just how deep this problem really goes.

“I can’t do it,” he admits in a whisper. “I can’t do it, Riley.”

She holds him a little tighter. Wishing that she could make him realize he’s not alone. “Do what?”

There’s a long pause before he answers. For a moment, Riley thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep.

“Keep going.”


End file.
